Yesterday Gabriel said to me,
“Mom, I love your hands, they never change”.
I said,
“That’s because they’re the hands that have cared for you your whole life.”
That was so sweet to me. We talked about how much his hands are growing and how much more they’ll keep growing. I love my children, they’re my Happy Thoughts!
Then I was remembering how much I loved my mom’s soft hands and playing with her wedding ring during church when I was a kid. She's nurtured us and loved us with those hands our whole lives. As I went to title this “Mama’s Hands’, thinking only about Gabriel’s comment, the timing was ironic because my mom injured one of her hands the other day and has been really sick with an infection in it. This is probably the longest we can remember her needing care and not being the one taking care of everyone else. As bad as we have felt for her though, we don’t mind caring for her a bit—it could never compare to the years of her caring for us—holding our hands, cooking, cleaning, everything.
As I grow older and my hands get more wrinkly I don’t want to be bothered by it, I just want to remember, these are the hands that my children love. Now if I could just come to terms with going gray… maybe that will be my next topic!
Rebeca read this and just sent me this beautiful picture of our mom's hands. (photo taken by Erik)
1 comment:
This is interesting, I was just working on a poem I had started on a mothers hands. I havent' gotten it to work yet. But I guess we are all beginning to see our mother's hand in our own hands. Keep up the good writing.
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